Mother's Tears
by Kayryn
Summary: The loss of a son is hard on any woman, Queen or not.
1. Chapter ONE

**Mother's Tears**

By Kayryn

Rated: FRK+

Category: Angst

Archive:Let's Wango

Disclaimer: Walt's (May he rest in peace) and Meg Cabot's. Not mine. Never was, never will be.

Timeline: Pre-movies.

Summary: The loss of a son is hard on any woman, Queen or not.

Author's notes: A huge thank you to CJ! You really were my anchor in my struggles with this story and kept me sane… and from deleting the whole thing on several occasions, though I doubt she even knew that.

Another thank you goes to tayryn for beta-reading. snoochies

* * *

**Chapter ONE**

She sighed with relief as she closed the doors behind her. It had been a hard week, harder than usual, but now it was over. Of course another one would begin the very next morning, but Sunday evenings were hers for relaxation and winding down. It was time she reserved for herself so she could leave the Queen persona behind if even just for one evening a week.

Clarisse sat in her favorite chair and after placing her glasses on the bridge of her nose, reached for the book she'd been trying to finish for some time now. Fiddling with the bookmark she reluctantly acknowledged that she wouldn't get any further tonight; she was too tired to concentrate on it. Still feeling the need to do something at least, she pulled out her needlework and switched on the TV. Expecting the usual Sunday evening comedy show, Clarisse was surprised to see the news on.

At the bottom of the screen Clarisse saw a box that informed her that this was a 'special report - live'. The anchorwoman was reporting about a horrific accident that had just occurred on one of the mountain roads leading to the capital. The Queen took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. She briefly thought about the victim of the accident and hoped that the family would have strong supporters that would get them through the rough time they were bound to have ahead of them. Then, placing the glasses back to the bride of her nose she took the needle and continued to create a rosebush.

While stitching Clarisse half-listened as the anchorwoman spoke of the poor weather conditions on the mountain roads at this time of the year. Absentmindedly Clarisse nodded. Only two weeks earlier she'd been visiting her winter cottage for a long weekend and on the way back the roads had been in terrible condition. She then sighed as she noticed she was running out of lime green thread. Well, that would just have to wait till later then. She would continue with the sage green.

"This will be an incredible loss to both our country and our Queen who only seven months ago lost her husband, King Rupert, may he rest in peace."

Confused about what the woman was saying Clarisse put down the needle, her attention now completely glued to the anchorwoman.

"The big question is who will now succeed Queen Clarisse?" the woman on the screen said.

Clarisse could barely hear the woman anymore or see pictures they were showing of her son as terror began to spread through her body. Fighting to breathe she stood up, the needlework flying from her lap. Clarisse watched as the woman asked questions from a reporter on site through a phone connection. The man explained in detail what the accident looked like and what the state of the car was at the moment. He explained that the paramedics were on the scene but attempts to revive the crown prince had proved futile and he'd been pronounced dead two minutes before.

Falling on her knees Clarisse wrapped her arms around herself, curling into a ball. Her head was swimming from the lack of oxygen and shock. She felt blinding pain ripping through her body and she somehow registered a scream escaping her. At once a guard entered her room asking her what was wrong while searching the room for any hostiles. Seeing nothing but the TV on and the Queen in obvious distress he urgently called Joseph to the scene, but before he could get all the words out, a man wearing a leather jacket rushed past him and to the Queen's side.

It was only then that the guard realized what the news on TV was about. He looked on for a few moments as the Chief of Security tried to calm the Queen and find out what had happened.

Joseph had been making his evening rounds around the palace when he'd heard a bloodcurdling scream coming from direction of the Queen's chambers. Barely even recognizing it as hers, he had already started to run when he'd been contacted by a guard posted by the Queen's doors. Seeing the Queen on the floor, curled up and weeping, had both shocked and scared him to his very core. If only he could calm her down enough to find out what had happened. Tentatively, he placed a hand on her back all the time talking to her, trying to coax her into at least telling him if she was physically hurt.

"Sir?"

Joseph, still on the floor next to the distraught woman, looked up at him and then followed the younger man's gaze to the TV screen. Several pictures of Prince Philippe, either alone or with one or more members of the Royal Family were displayed. What stopped him, though, were the numbers displayed above each picture. 1957 - 1999. "Oh, God almighty."

After several seconds during which he allowed his emotions to rule him he began to give orders. "Everyone out!" Then speaking to the guard who had first entered the room, he added, "Make sure everything's secure, triple check _everything_. Call to St. Matthew's to make sure security there is tight and Father Pierre is secure."

Joseph didn't even bother waiting for the young man to acknowledge his orders before returning his attention to the Queen. He gently helped the shell-shocked woman to the couch and then asked if he should switch off the TV. She didn't seem to be really paying much attention to what he was saying but he did it anyway. He doubted she needed to hear the details at the very moment.

Now sitting on the sofa, Clarisse started to slowly rock herself. Her Chief of Security wasn't quite sure how he could be of help. He felt that he should do more but wasn't quite sure what. Gingerly, knowing he was treading a fine line, he put an arm around the grieving woman and drew her to him. She was shaking and mumbling words he couldn't quite decipher. Holding her more strongly, Joseph felt at a loss. His Queen needed to be comforted but his own conflicting emotions made it difficult at the moment to distinguish between what was appropriate and what was not. While he was sure the Queen would not object to any comfort given, he wasn't so sure she would later appreciate having been seen so vulnerable. Even by him. He decided that Charlotte would be better equipped to give the Queen the comfort she needed. The young woman was a very recent addition to the palace but he'd seen the connection and mutual respect the women had for each other. Joseph called for another guard. When one entered, Joseph ordered him to go and find Charlotte.

"Inform her of the situation," Joseph added as an afterthought.

The guard looked slightly unsure. "What situation, sir?"

Joseph noticed that the Queen tensed, as if waiting for the words. The air was heavy with dread and anguish as he looked at the Queen's profile and said the words, "Prince Philippe has been in a car accident. He… He didn't survive."

Clarisse fought against tears again and Joseph shifted his gaze to the guard who was still standing in the room. The man was visibly shaken as the news sank in. "Go on, now. Find Charlotte," Joseph repeated after a moment. The younger man nodded sharply and exited the room.


	2. Chapter TWO

**Chapter TWO**

It was close to four in the morning and Joseph was still running around the palace arranging things. At the moment he was on his way back to the Queen and her assistant who had been with Her Majesty all night. Joseph was still absolutely furious that the press had found out about the Crown Prince's death before they had. He'd found out that a member of a news crew had been on his way home and barely avoided the accident himself. Having recognized the injured man to be the heir for the throne, he'd called the newsroom immediately. Joseph had made it his business to know who the man was and he'd already made barely legal plans of action concerning the reporter's future.

Passing the guards, Joseph entered the Queen's Chambers. He found the two women just the way he left them, sitting close to each other on the couch. A doctor had stopped by earlier and offered sedatives for the Queen but she had adamantly refused them. Joseph made his way to the women and cleared his throat, requesting their attention.

His heart broke for the umpteenth time that night as the Queen raised her eyes to him. Red and puffy from crying her eyes were full of raw anguish and desperation, even hopelessness. He loathed turning the knife in the wound, but someone had to take care of the practical things.

"Your Majesty, I'm afraid I must remind you that no one has been in contact with Father Pierre yet. His security detail has informed me he is safe but he is not aware of the situation yet," Joseph told her.

"I'll call him. And Joseph, please," she spoke with a voice hoarse from crying, "I would truly appreciate you putting aside formality tonight. Please call me Clarisse."

He nodded in acquiesce, "As you wish, Clarisse."

"If I call Pierre now I'll wake him, but I'm not sure what time he usually wakes up. I'd rather he heard this from me than from someone else, and especially not by the news or a reporter," she mused aloud. "I suppose it's better to wake him. Or what do you think?"

Joseph glanced at Charlotte whose expression told him she agreed with the Queen. "I think we both agree with you there, Your… Clarisse."

Nodding as in affirmation, Clarisse gestured towards the phone. Charlotte picked up the receiver and dialed the number from memory before giving it to Clarisse.

Using the handkerchief in her hand, Clarisse dried her eyes as she waited for her oldest - and now only - son to pick up the phone. After several rings a groggy male voice answered, "Hello?"

"Pierre?"

"Yes?" A pause before he realized who was calling. "Mama?"

"Yes, darling. Pierre, I'm sorry for waking you up but I have to… I need to tell you someth- something. Pierre, Philippe… Philp-" Her voice cracking, Clarisse covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes again and sobs wrecked her body.

"Mama? Mama? What is it? Mama, what has happened?"

Charlotte took the receiver from Clarisse and glanced at Joseph, searching for a go-ahead. He nodded briefly before sitting next to Clarisse and placing his arm around her back. With only the three of them in the room, decorum had truly been forgotten. As he held her close, he heard Charlotte haltingly inform Pierre of his brother's death. Joseph's respect for the younger woman grew. She was in tears herself but still managed reign her emotions while making plans Pierre for him to come to the palace that very same day.

As Charlotte replaced the receiver she told them what she and Pierre had agreed on. "He's going to leave as soon as he has packed and contacted a Father in the next parish. He should be her at the palace in about three hours."

"Thank you, Charlotte. I was… I had… Thank you. Your help has been most welcome tonight." She raised her head from Joseph's shoulder so she could make eye contact with him as well. "And yours as well, Joseph. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

"We would not have it any other way, Clarisse," he told her.

Accepting the words as the truth they were, Clarisse drew comfort from them, knowing she could continue to rely on the two people who had during the night become her friends. This was the most difficult time of her life so far. Undoubtedly Rupert's death had been very hard on her as well, and it was still very fresh in her memory, but she had never imagined anything could hurt this much. No pain she had gone through in her life before could have prepared for the anguish that now resided in her heart.

After sitting with her a while longer, Charlotte and Joseph managed to talk Clarisse into taking a pill that would help her fall asleep. The upcoming days would be draining emotionally, physically and psychologically. She, in fact they all, needed to rest and gather at least some strength.


	3. Chapter THREE

**Chapter THREE**

Clarisse woke up feeling disoriented. Her head felt heavy and though she couldn't place it, she felt something was very wrong. She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. It told her it was nearly noon. Why would she sleep till noon? Pushing the covers away, she sat up and her gaze fell on a picture of her sons in their teens. In a rush it all came back. The pain of the night before gripped her insides and she felt like she was going to be sick. Rushing to the bathroom she managed to reach the sink just in time before she lost the supper from the evening before.

Wiping her mouth with a towel Clarisse stared at her image in the mirror. The person staring back at her frightened her. She looked old. Defeated and weary. And it was hard to accept that it was her.

Walking back to the bedroom she grabbed a robe from the back of a couch and wrapped it around herself. She sat on her bed for a moment, trying to make some sense of the multitude of random thoughts running around her head. Finally she picked up the phone and asked the maid on the other end if Pierre had arrived. After receiving an affirmative answer she requested that someone find him and tell him his mother was waiting to see him. She replaced the receiver and wondered if she should put on something more presentable. Then telling herself that this was her son after all, she decided against it and just sat there, waiting for him.

A short while later there was a knock on her door.

"Enter," she called.

Her son entered the room and her arms opened wide, welcoming him. Pierre rushed to his Mother and they fell into an embrace, both holding on for dear life.

"Oh, Mama."

At first Clarisse struggled against the tears threatening to fall, but the soothing words Pierre whispered broke through her walls. She'd been sure she wouldn't be able to cry anymore, and yet fresh tears rolled down her cheeks freely. And so they sat, a mother and her son, while they comforted one another, drawing strength from each other and sharing their grief.

Later they sat together, still on her bed, not unlike they used to when the boys had been growing up. Clarisse leaned against the headboard of the bed while Pierre sat in the middle of the bed, his long legs crossed. They reminisced the good times, both recalling funny stories about the years the boys were children.

"Have you called Helen?" Pierre suddenly asked.

Clarisse bowed her head, thinking of a best way to answer that question. "Not yet, I haven't. I know she must be told, but darling, I couldn't even tell you last night and now-"

"I understand, Mama. Perhaps I should call?" he suggested.

"No, Pierre. But thank you for offering. I'll call her myself. Could you be a dear and have Charlotte find me her number?"

"Of course. It's still very early in San Francisco, though. Maybe you should wait a few more hours."

"Oh, of course yes," Clarisse said. "You know I haven't spoken to her since before Amelia was born. That one time, I'm not sure if you remember…"

"I do."

"She must blame me for what happened between her and Philippe."

"Why would she? Mama, Philippe told me he explained her how he felt. He made sure she knew it was his decision and no one else's."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

"Yes?"

The door opened and revealed a tired Charlotte, holding a pen and a notebook in hand. "Your Majesty. Father Pierre. Your Majesty, Prime Minister Motaz has called. He expressed his deepest condolences and asked if it would be possible for Your Majesty to meet with him at some point today?"

"Oh," Clarisse sighed. The heavy duty of ruling a country at a time like this was almost like a physical weight on her shoulders.

Pierre watched, fascinated, as his Mother unconsciously squared her shoulders and told Charlotte that she would meet with Sebastian Motaz in two hours time. The woman never seized to amaze him, always making sacrifices in her own life so others could benefit. In a way, he supposed, what his mother did was not that far from what he tried to do himself in his congregation. Giving to others was something his Mother had installed in him when he was just a small child and he prayed he could one day say with pride that he had truly followed his mother's footsteps on the path she had shown him.


	4. Chapter FOUR

**Chapter FOUR**

It was the Saturday after the accident and the day of the funeral. Clarisse was putting on the black dress she had selected earlier. The maids had wanted to help but she'd declined knowing she needed this time alone before facing the public. She stood in front of the mirror and stared at her image. All morning she'd been telling herself she could survive the funeral with dignity and without breaking down. She knew she was expected to present herself with composed elegance. But each time she saw in her mind's eye the body of her son lying in the casket and it was as if someone was ripping her heart apart.

Clarisse walked over to the windows and looked outside in the direction of the main gates. The area was filled with flowers and candles that hadn't stopped coming since the early Monday morning. She was touched by the kindness of her people and had already spoken to them in a special televised message, thanking everyone for their heartwarming show of support.

She thought about the past week and what a blur of action and chaos it had been. On Monday, as she had promised, she had talked with Prime Minister Sebastian Motaz. After expressing his condolences again, this time in person, Motaz had explained that regrettably some matters had to be dealt with even in the time of mourning. One of those was the next heir in line. Was Pierre ready to take his brother's place after all? Unable to answer the question, Clarisse had promised to talk to her son and pass his answer back once he gave her one. Pierre on his part had been unable to give her one straight away. Asking for time to think about it, he'd promised to give his answer after his brother's funeral.

After her meeting with the Prime Minister, Clarisse had called San Francisco but had spoken with Helen only, not Amelia. The conversation between them had been short and to the point, but Helen had clearly been distraught by the news. Clarisse had offered to talk to Amelia herself, but had been immensely grateful when Helen had gently declined, saying she felt it would be better if she told the news to her daughter herself. Clarisse had also offered to arrange for them to attend the funeral but Helen had declined, diplomatically reminding the Queen that her daughter had no idea her father had been a crown prince and that the setting would most likely prove to be at least as much of a challenge to the teenager as the actual reason she would be there.

Clarisse, not for the first time during this week, felt a pang of regret that her granddaughter would now never know her father. She knew of Philippe and Helen's plans to tell Amelia of her Royal heritage after she turned eighteen. Philippe had for so long planned how the girl would come to Genovia and spend time with him so he could finally get to know his child. How unfair and cruel the world was.

Futilely trying to shake the heavy thoughts from her mind for the moment, the Queen gave her image one more appraising look before leaving her chambers, knowing that a car was already waiting for her and Pierre ready to take them to the Cathedral.

When they reached the Cathedral a huge crowd of people was standing outside in the cold winter day, waiting silently, again present only to show their support and respects. Joseph opened the door for Clarisse and offered her his hand. She gripped it, perhaps too strongly and exited the car. Her Security Chief had become ever more important to her this past week. He'd been there at her side helping her, offering anything she could possibly have needed and more. She was grateful to him beyond words. When Pierre offered his arm to her, Clarisse reluctantly let go of Joseph's hand and walked in the centuries old monument with her son.

During her own parents' funerals, Clarisse had discovered that if she managed to keep from thinking about the person lying in the casket, she could get very close to ignoring what was happening and thus she could concentrate solely on remaining composed and calm. Crying, she'd been taught, wasn't something to be done publicly. It was a sign of weakness and that was something was given into only in private. She'd used this same technique in Rupert's funeral and it had worked. But now her trusted technique was failing her. Every now and then a tear would form at the corner of her eye, and she would wipe it away. But considering that inside she was screaming with grief, she considered it an accomplishment of great magnitude.

Pierre stood next to his Mother, most of the time holding her hand and offering silent support. It was only when he left her side to give the eulogy that she felt alone. She let her eye wander and it wasn't until she saw him that she realized who she'd been looking for. He was watching her from a distance and she noticed that every time she glanced in his direction he was there, looking at her with warmth and support in his eyes. It made her feel safe.

It was later that same evening when Pierre asked to speak to his mother alone. They drove out the kitchen staff and Clarisse prepared hot cocoa for the two of them. Sitting down at the table, Pierre took one of his mother's hands in his and gazed into her eyes.

"Mama, I have prayed, long and hard, about what you asked me. I love you dearly; you know this. I love my country as well. But Mama, I cannot leave the life I believe I was meant to live." Searching her eyes for understanding he continued, "Earlier this week I realized how much I have you to thank for my calling. You've always shown me how a person can make personal sacrifices for the benefit of others and how it can enrich your own life. I know you get that fulfillment from serving the country as the Queen, but Mama, I wasn't meant to follow you in this particular path. My serving others is meant to take place in a different way. Can you understand, Mama? Can you forgive me?"

"Oh, darling, there's nothing to forgive. And I _do_ understand, believe me." With her free hand Clarisse caressed Pierre's cheek. "I guess I knew this already, even before I asked you. But I wanted you to take time to think it through once more, to see if you still felt the same."

Pierre smiled but then a frown appeared on his face. "Does that mean that the Van Trokens…"

"No," Clarisse stated firmly. "First, I'm going to San Francisco."

The end


End file.
